


Footsteps Bloom As Flowers

by vasamalulu



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, SMTown Live, Yunho's solo, but let me imagine it anyway, that never happened, that will never happen like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 11:17:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18893536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vasamalulu/pseuds/vasamalulu
Summary: "Do well and live earnestly (Εὖ πράττειν καὶ Σπουδαίως ζῆν)" ~ Epicurus





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is obviously extremely AU because  
> 1\. Yunho's solo debut might not be at SMTown Live  
> 2\. I don't know what will happen because it's still somewhere in the future  
> 3\. I imagine ALL of SJ together, not just the current active one. 
> 
> For dramatic effect.  
> Or maybe just a stupid wishful thinking. 
> 
> Maybe I was delirious when I wrote it, low on food and sleep, high on a fever, missing seeing them together.

Solo stages at SMTown Live.

For some reasons he could not explain fully, they had always unnerved him. Maybe because they were always tied to some pivotal moments in his life. Milestones that marked turning points.

The first had followed the group's momentous cleaving; a thought that always constricted his heart, even after all this time. He remembered it--the first and last time he would perform "Why" alone--was full of anxiety, fear, and fueled by a desperate need to prove something like he was on the verge of losing another debut date. He remembered being so nervous he couldn't decide whether to cry or to throw up.

The first stage following his mandatory service was a little less unnerving. He had gone up the stage with a little less baggage thanks to two years of army life, and with a little less hang up after getting a brief pep talk from Changmin over the phone. Even when that infamous incident of him literally airing his laundry out to the world could not diminish the highs he got from returning to the stage he loved.

But at those times, he had TVXQ and moreover he had Changmin. There were always two of them on stage, if not physically, then spiritually.

This year, he would be alone, as himself, with no buffer and safety of being a duo to soften his fall.

Yesterday, on the first day of SMTown Live, they had performed together as TVXQ, a move designed both to calm his nerves and to assure the fans that they were first and foremost, TVXQ, despite their individual projects.

And if Yunho had kept his gaze on Changmin for longer; nervously seeking the shadow of his almost 20-years partner-in-crime every chance he got, then he was thankful neither the younger man nor the rest of his team hadn't said anything about it.

Today, Changmin performed with Taemin, who was feeling lonely himself for his bandmates had all gone to do their service. TVXQ's usual slot would entirely be Yunho's.

* * *

He hadn't been able to sleep at all and it showed. He accepted every bit of admonishment and grumbling that came together with extra layers of concealers that fell heavy across his face. He asked them if they had changed their brands. They told him they hadn't. They had even used the same bottles and palettes as the last time they did him up for his various MVs and CFs. Those weren't that too long ago.

Another cheer and he could hear Changmin and Taemin saying their thanks and goodbyes to the crowd, telling them to cheer hard for the next performers.

He closed his eyes and let cool, skilled hands put some eyeliner on him. They really must've changed the brands because these things were irritating his eyes so much he felt like he was about to cry. They must have changed the foundation brand too, because the smell of it was making him want to vomit.

His stomach roiled when he was told to tilt up his face up a little more and quit frowning.

He heard the door open, letting Changmin and Taemin into the dressing room together, laughing and joking, still chasing their breaths but happy for another successful performance. He wanted to greet them immediately, but lip gloss was being applied. He accepted a tap of a familiar hand on his shoulder with as much a smile he could muster without being told off. He peeled one eye open a fraction, the one currently not being attacked by a brush, and mumbled a "well done" to a grinning Taemin through his reflection on the mirror in front of him.

* * *

Soon it was call time. His manager, his stylist, his support team, they all rushed him off his feet and out of the room.

Backstage, they dodged busy crew and tried not to step on anyone's toes. There were so many people, greeting him, wishing him well, while he could only grin and fake laugh over the bile rising up his throat. Changmin stood next to him as though he was coming onto the stage with him.

Changmin was poking fun at Kyuhyun, who would be performing his first SM Town after military. The rest of the Super Junior took turns patting his back and willing him to have fun before they, every one of them together at last, took the stage to a deafening roar.

"A decade of waiting does that to you, huh?" a staff somewhere quipped and Yunho nodded absently.

They nudged him closer to the bottom of the stage. Changmin trailed next to him, greeting and laughing, doing all the things Yunho wanted to do but couldn't.

They passed a retinue and Yunho belatedly recognized them to be f(X), also together at last. Still buzzing with adrenaline, they each greeted him with deep energetic bows of flailing arms and hair and big toothy smiles. They gesticulated wildly, glitter flying off their skin like fairy dust. They exchanged words and grins, before they were whisked off by their own managers for press duties. He carefully avoided Changmin's gaze; he was afraid he would fall apart while still among other people.

It was only when they were finally waiting off the eaves, the crew much too busy to care about the two, that Yunho dared to turn and look at Changmin who looked back at him equally intently. "You'll be fine, hyung... they love you."

A stage hand called Yunho up to the little pulley-thing that would push him up onto the stage for an extra-dramatic entrance which he had practiced a few dozen times--along with all the other elements of his performance--that he could do it in his sleep. He half expected Changmin to hang back, but he knew the warmth that followed his every footstep was too familiar for it to be a stage-hand's body heat. He squared his back and lifted his chin.

It's too late to back out now, and he had never backed off from anything in his life.

They secured him on the pulley, and he dared to turn his head again, to meet Changmin square in the eyes. "You'll slay like you always do," Changmin said with a confidence that Yunho didn't seem to have at the moment, his usually neat grammar lilting with young street-words he must've picked up from the younger groups. "Trust me. I have enough faith for the both of us."

Yunho nodded sharply then closed his eyes, took a deep breath and prayed like he always do.

* * *

Time passed. It could be seconds, or minutes. But time had no meaning, not really. Until finally, he felt rather than saw or heard the pulley moving up. The muffled sounds of the crowd became more pronounced as he neared the surface of the stage.

Bright lights were blinding even through his closed eyelids, he counted to five and opened his eyes.

But the light immediately around him was still dim, putting him in the shadows, the VCR loud and jarring above him.

The first thing he saw was TVXQ's red greeting him.

He blinked and the next thing he saw was Changmin, standing right there in front of his eyes, smack down the middle, stained red, grinning madly. How Changmin got to where he was so fast, Yunho didn't dare guess. Someone would fill him in on the details later, he knew.

Someone was screaming loudly from the sidelines and he realized it was Heechul-hyung. He grinned when he saw BoA pushing her way to the front of a quickly-yielding crowd of SM artists vying for prime viewing space on the side of the stage.

His intro VCR was winding down, the tinny voice in his earpiece called his name and began counting him down. He took a deep breath just because.

The stage was impossibly wide; too big for one person, he thought. But as the dancers took their place, and the band gave him their thumbs up, he felt a knot around his lungs loosen up.

The crowds were loud with his name, his friends were all there cheering him by the sidelines, and Changmin was a rock in front of him.

And if during his set he would keep his gaze on Changmin for longer than was sane, maybe seeking a glimpse of him every chance he got, he knew neither the younger man nor the rest of his team would say anything about it. So he was glad for it.

Ten seconds dwindled to three, then two, then one.

Lights flooded the stage, and it was time.

 

*


	2. The Janitor's Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> roam the night.  
> takes place before the 2nd day; look from an outsider's point of view.

He was already old when he started work as a janitor at the venue. He was much older now of course. His bones creaked on a good day, and could tell the weather better than those people he saw on television.

He no longer worked as full time janitor because labor laws said so, but the venue proprietors had given him a small place to live in the bowels of the venue when he told them he had nowhere else to go. The loansharks had practically taken away his home because he had helped a friend who ended up running away.

It was a small room, nearly windowless. Only trailing plants and the occasional butterfly made the view out of the window bearable. It was alright for him though, because he lived alone. It was for sleeping only, anyway, and a convenient place to store what meager possessions he had. He preferred spending his waking days outside, watching and meeting people.

Most of the time, the venue hosted sports events. Big grand ones with high stakes riding on it--like national pride and such things. He loved the energy, the highs that came with wins, and the lows that came with doing one's best but not quite enough; those stayed with him for days. Sometimes they had rallies and campaigns, and although the messages were nothing new, he liked to meet the colorful individuals who attended.

Sometimes, they held music events here. Big names small names, he'd seen them all. Their kinds of music might not always be up his alley, but he fancied himself wise enough to appreciate the hard work that went into even the most incomprehensible ones.

Backstage and corridors were his favorite haunts, while sitting in the middle of a crowd of fans was never his thing.

He liked, however, sitting in empty stands, when the night was darkest, just hours before D-day. The stage would be mostly set, and he could almost play out the whole scenario in his head. He had seen that many, enough to have a vivid imagination.

This night was one of those sleepless nights. He wandered down the empty hallways, greeted the odd security guard making their rounds, and the younger janitors cleaning after everyone had gone. He recognized some of them, but he was too old to know the newer ones.

He passed a security guard, who barely even acknowledged him, and turned toward the door that would let him to the seating areas near the stage.

He had a favorite seat, a place he imagined would be the best seat in the house, and he could find it even in the dark.

* * *

He didn't know how long he sat in the dark, feet tapping along to non-existent music from an age where he would still go to the smoky bars and soldier watering holes.

His song was ending in his head, when he spotted a shadow moving across the stage, slowly, quietly.

His eyes were not as they once were, but he could still see the shadow moving from one prop to another, one musical instrument to another, touching, checking. He didn't feel any malice. Nor did he feel curiosity.

He crept closer and banked on the shadow being too preoccupied to notice. Over the years, he had seen a fair share of young security guards and janitors taking advantage of the slow waiting of the night to touch, see, feel for themselves things belonging to the stars, celebrities, or athletes. They were harmless, usually.

He had never seen vandals; the security guards here were too capable in their jobs. But it wouldn't be too harmful to check just in case.

He was just three rows down from where he had been sitting, more than two dozens more to go, before he was stopped in his tracks.

* * *

Light from the screen of a cellphone was just enough to illuminate the stage in this near pitch darkness. Music barely echoing in an empty space. The shadow danced. Then sang along with the music.

It took him a while to recognize that the shadow was no security guard nor curious janitor, nor a staff or crew member. He knew this artist, seen him haunt these halls a few times before for a lot of reasons over many years.

The young man was younger than his daughter or son-in-law, or even his unborn grandson, who all had left him in one unfortunate accident of no one's fault, one sunny evening a lifetime ago. It was such a sad memory that he decided he would just listen to the songs.

It was, for all intents and purposes, a solitary concert of one, performed to an audience of none. Perhaps just to the artist and his own demons.

There were dance songs, playful and comedic, fun and jaunty, bonny as a bonnet. The marches were furious, grand like a call to arms to some holy war on a distant land.

There were love songs like the sweetest honey, and songs that spoke of misery that reminded him of his own losses.

Tunes came after another, sometimes light sometimes heavy, sometimes he could see sparks of electricity flying into the night. Finally the last strains of music faded away, and all one could hear was the artist's own labored breathing.

They shared a quiet moment, though he wondered if the artist knew he had an audience. And despite himself, he clapped.

*~*

 

Yunho was surprised to hear the clap that came from somewhere down where the audience would be. He thought he must've looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

He didn't expect there to be an audience; the security guard who had reluctantly let him in told him that there'd be no one anyway.

Maybe he was going to get into trouble.

He turned around so he could properly face front, or at least the general direction of where he thought the clap came from.

* * *

He had seen the old man before, vaguely. He knew their paths very rarely crossed. After a few rounds of bowing to and fro, they sat down in the dark, across each other on two of the audience seats.

Although he could be made to keep quiet and listen--and he fancied himself a good enough listener--he also couldn't help himself. Sometimes he would start talking and everything would spill out.

So, then, to this old man with a kind gaze that seemed to bore into him even in the dark, he felt the dam that had held all his feelings from everyone--from his family, friends, even Changmin--broke. And he couldn't for the life of him stop himself.

His fears, his dreams, his doubts. They spilled out like a torrent, and listening to his own words echoing back at him in an empty yawning space like this, felt weird and bad. How fickle, he thought, being scared about singing alone. Surely not for an artist of his stature and experience? He half expected the old man to admonish him.

But the old man kept a firm hold around his hand, patting his shoulders like his grandfather would.

"I guess I'm just feeling sorry for myself," he said with a deep sigh when he finally managed to wrestle his feelings back inside. Though barely.

But the old man merely laughed, in a genial way that washed over his soul, and patted him on his back. It was like getting permission for something he didn't even know he needed.

"So when are your handlers going to come and collect you? Will you have time to talk with an old man?"

* * *

The old man, he found, used to be a gardener. He spoke of flowers that Yunho swore he had never seen. He belatedly realized that it was the old man's way of distracting him from his own stage. His naver search and his data plan were getting a thorough workout, as the old man told him to look for this or that flower, explained each and every significance about them.

"The weeds though. The weeds, you can't do anything about them."

The way those glaucomatose eyes seemed to look straight into his soul, Yunho didn't think that they were just talking about common garden weeds.

"There's only so much you can do, so much pesticide you could use, until it begins to destroy the good bits as well. All you can do, boy, is manage it, don't let it get to you too much. Do you understand?"

He must've looked dumbfounded, because the old man just chuckled and patted his knee. "Just think about it."

*~*

 

They talked and talked until it was light outside, as the sun edged its way up the horizon, the sky visible from the open rooftop was stained in pinks and oranges, and he marvelled at how good the colors were. He wished he could put it as album art.

"Maybe next time," he told himself.

He heard his name being called, and it took three calls to realize that he was really being called. He turned around and saw Myunghwan-hyung rushing up to him, a scolding on his tongue. "Yunho-yah!"

"Sorry. I couldn't sleep," he said contrite.

"What have you been doing? You're all damp."

It must be the dew, Yunho thought, because his sweat must've dried off by now. "Checking the stage, practicing, talking to..."

"To whom?" Myunghwan-hyung asked before Yunho could finish his sentence, sharper than intended, looking around suspiciously now.

"To..." he turned around sharply and saw the old man wink at him, bony skeletal forefinger against dry lips, bathed in the colors of dawn.

"To.. myself, I guess?"

"Come on, let's get you inside," Myunghwan-hyung sighed at his charge's antics. After all these years, he thought he had learned not to be surprised anymore at these odd quirks. He all but picked Yunho up from his seat.

"Sorry, hyung."

"I'm not going to say anything, because Changmin will do it for me once he gets here."

* * *

Halfway up the steps Yunho turned back. The old man was still there like a mirage set against a new day unfolding. The man gave him a small wave, a jaunty salute.

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> In any case, thank you for reading this dumpster fire of a thing, which also happens to be my first completed fic in this fandom which I'm still learning about.
> 
> I might add a chapter or two from other people's povs, or maybe not. *buries head in hand* But I'd like to hear what you think of this.
> 
> (title from "In Our Time" lyrics; watch/listen to it [here](https://youtu.be/Mm_e5PSq3Wc))


End file.
